Waking Up Dreaming
by goodnight-sammy
Summary: After a drunken night, Dean wakes up in the Impala to his brother handing him a cup of coffee-except it isn't Sam. OR Dean wakes up in an alternate universe where Sam is the middle child (and also a dick). Set after 8x17 Trial and Error. Contains an underappreciative Dean and some brother bonding. Rated T for language.
1. Intro

AN: Wowowow I know what you guys are thinking right now... wait, I thought you were dead? No, just in college. Anyways, it's about winter break and I was feeling some creative juices coming on once again, so I thought I'd give this little story writing thing a try. It's been a while since I've written a longer fic... *cough* that I've actually finished *cough*... but I promise I'm going to give this one the old college try (ahaha, get it, cuz I'm in college?) I'm sorry, bad joke. Anyways, this story is set a little ways into season 8, after Sam completes the first trial. It's a bit of a throwback, but I was feeling nostalgic. Enjoy! And comment with any suggestions/ideas.

-GNS-

"You know what?" Dean asked, sloshing from one foot to the next as Sam dragged him stumbling to his bed. Sam had to walk the half mile to the bar to pick him up after he had gotten so trashed even the bartender at the shady shack of a dive Dean had wandered into decided he wasn't road worthy. Needless to say, Sam wasn't in the best of moods after having been woken up just as he had finally, _finally _drifted off by his cell phone ringing. He hadn't been getting a good night's rest as of late anyways, and Dean's antics weren't helping. The motel of the week was some gawdy checker-board theme, and the walls were made up of dizzying black and white wallpaper that could cause even the sober head to spin—all things considered it probably wasn't the best place to spend the night. But it was cheap, and it was _mostly _clean and it's what they got.

"What, Dean?" Sam sighed, pushing his brother off of his shoulder and letting him fall flat against the wrinkled motel sheets. Dean shut his eyes with a groan, rolling onto his side and away from the edge of the bed.

"I've always—always been the _better _brother, ya know?" he slurred, head lolling.

"You're wasted, Dean," Sam said simply, brushing away the off handed comment, back turned. He pushed one of his big hands through his tousled hair in a futile attempt to sit it back in place, before plopping down on the corner of his own bed. He had gotten far too used to these drunken rambles as of late, and while they still struck a chord somewhere deep inside of Sam, he was finding the comments easier and easier to brush off.

"But I, I _meeaaan _it—" Dean started, "I've always done more, ya know? I've given my life for you and you—what? G-give me up for some dumb dog—some, some _girl?_ How's that s'posed to make _me feeeeel, _Sam?" Deans glassy eyes squinted up toward the dim lit ceiling. "Ya _know?"_

Sam ignored the drunken rambles, jaw clenched as he undid the laces of his boots. Whatever sense of redemption Dean thought he'd gain from the trials had been stripped away after Sam killed the hell hound and completed the first one. Dean wouldn't admit it, but he was feeling lost. It was his job to do the dangerous stuff, and Sam's job to watch. He had been using all of it as a piss poor excuse as of late to get plastered.

"Get some sleep, Dean," Sam said flatly, stripping from his sweat stained flannel.

"But I mean it—" Dean began, rolling onto his back after a few failed attempts to kick off his own shoes.

"I know," Sam clipped. He turned out the lights.


	2. Chapter 1

AN: Here's the first chapter. I should probably post a chapter once every week or week and a half, so don't say I didn't warn you! I do plan on keeping up with this one though, so check back next week for more. Enjoy, and remember to drop a comment if you want.

-GNS-

Chapter 1:

Dean woke up to a sharp rap on the passenger side of the Impala. Sunlight spilled into the car from the windshield and Dean shut his eyes against its sear. His neck ached and his lower back hurt like a mother—"I'm getting to old for this shit, remind me why I didn't crash _inside _the motel last night?" Dean mumbled.

"Wild night huh?"

Dean grasped blindly with one arm toward Sam for the coffee he smelled wafting through the window. The other he used to massage some of the tension between his shoulders.

"It's too early for your bullshit, Samantha," Dean quipped back, sucking down on the thick black java lifeline before him.

"Ha ha very funny—Sam's never brought you your hangover coffee before in your life. Hell, he's not even here yet—always late. S'posed to be here like ten minutes ago…" the man trialed off.

Dean's eyes snapped open, sitting up so fast the hot coffee spilled over his front half.  
"Shit, damnit," he cursed, pulling the scalding stained shirt away from his torso.

"Woah, easy Dean… what's up?"

Dean turned his head slowly toward the voice at the window. A pair of familiar green eyes stared back at him from a very unfamiliar face.

"Who the fuck are you?" Dean hissed, reaching for his gun.

"What's up with you?" The guy asked, opening the passenger door and sliding in. Apparently brushing off Dean's question.

Dean cocked his pistol, the ivory handle cool against his palm.

"Woah woah shit, Dean. It's me—Henry?" He said, sliding back against the door, "your _brother?" _His hands were up and open, looking so much like Sam for a second. His brow furrowed and full on baby brother puppy dog eyes at the ready. The kid looked _hurt. _

"Trouble in paradise?" Dean heard from behind him. _Sam. _Relief spread through him, melting through his veins and the tension spilled from his shoulders. "Why ya got a gun on Henry, man?" Sam asked, bent so he could see better through the window, head cocked.

"Who?" Now Dean was really confused.

"Henry? Your youngest brother? The light of your life? The apple of your eye?" Sam deadpanned. It looked like Sam, at least. Whoever this cocky son of a bitch was, was most certainly not the brother he knew.

"Look I don't know what kind of sick joke this is—" Dean began, "if you're trying to get back at me for making you come get me last night, this is all sorts of elaborate…"

"_Look,"_ Sam interrupted, "I don't know what shit _you two_ are pulling this morning, but I'm really not in the mood for tweedle dee and tweedle dipshit's antics, alright? Can we just get this show on the road? I have things I'd like to do within the next decade." His voice was hard and his eyes cold. Dean was taken aback by his rigidity. He didn't know what the hell was happening, but he thought, for the moment at least, Sam was not the beast to bother. Dean studied Sam's face for a moment—the set of his jaw, the line of his mouth. It _was _Sam, that much he knew. Hell, he had a lifetime spent knowing that face—but there was something military about the way he held himself. Something a lot like their father.

"Are we good?" Henry asked quietly, inquisitive eyes boring into the side of Dean's head. It was weird, completely weird. Henry looked a lot like him, he supposed. They could definitely be related. He was shorter, sure, and younger, probably in his late twenties, with a mess of John's dark waves of hair on his head and Mary's sharp chin. Dean wasn't sure what kind of drunken gin, or _djinn_ filled dream he had landed himself in, but he was going to figure out.

"Yeah, yeah we're good. Sorry," Dean mumbled, straightening himself out behind the wheel, "Where are we headed?"

Sam scoffed from the window, shaking his head "Whatever shit you were on last night, cue me in next time will ya, I'd like to be invited. I'll lead the way." Dean watched as Sam strolled over to some old beater, shoulders set back. The engine rumbled to life with a sputter. Dean turned the key of the Impala and was comforted for a moment by the familiar purr of his baby. This, whatever the hell _this_ was, was going to be a wild ride.


	3. Chapter 2

AN: Wow I know what you're thinking, another chapter? So fast? You said it was gonna come out next week! Yes, I know. But I had it written so I thought I would post it early. I have some projects due the next couple of days, so I wouldn't expect another chapter until next week, but I'll see what I can do. Thank you for the awesome response to the first two chapters! It's great writing again. Feel free to fav and comment, it honestly inspires me to write faster :)

-GNS-

Chapter 2:

Dean and Henry had been driving in a tense silence for a while now. Dean hadn't bothered to play any music, stuck inside of his head, and Henry seemed to stubborn to start up a conversation on his own. Every now and then the boy would huff, as if he were expecting some sort of explanation for Dean's behavior. Dean just tightened his grip on the wheel each time and tried to ignore the way Henry's gaze lingered on him. It didn't take long for the silence to wear on him, though.

"So, um," Dean started, glancing over at the boy next to him. Henry perked up immediately. "Why doesn't Sam ride with us?" Henry's face fell again.

"You know why, Dean. Are you alright? You've been acting strange all morning," Henry trailed off.

"Just, remind me?" Dean insisted, squinting through the rear window of the car Sam was driving in an attempt to get a better view of his brother.

"I dunno, it was a fight you and Sam had—" Henry started. For as much as the kid seemed to want to talk earlier, he was extremely reluctant now. Every word fell out of his mouth and seemed to stick to the air—like each word was taffy pulled between his teeth.

"I mean, you have to have some suspicions," Dean pushed. His head still pounding from the hangover.

"Well, Sam's awfully tall, ya know? And the back seat isn't much room for him," Henry offered, turning his head to look out the window. Even though Dean had pegged him for his late twenties, the guy was so timid at times it seemed he was talking to a child. Either the guy never spoke his mind, or Sam was a topic he just didn't bother touching.

"Then why doesn't he just sit up front?"

"Well… you told him you wanted _me _to ride shotgun. I guess that didn't sit well with him. Now he won't even stay in the same motel as us half the time," Henry explained, kicking at some dirt on the floor of the Impala. "Why did you want to hear all that again?"

"I just wanted to get your take on the whole deal," Dean lied, his brow furrowed. Sure, he and Sam had had their fair share of fights before, even a few where they parted ways for a while, but this seemed all sorts of wrong. It was like they weren't even really brothers, like Dean didn't even really care. That didn't sit well with him, and his already churning stomach flipped over. Dean hit the brakes, hard. He pulled over to the side of the road and flung open the door just in time for the bile to begin climbing up out of his throat.

"Whoa, man!" Henry gasped, searching through the glove box for some spare napkins, "I knew you weren't feeling great this morning, I should have told Sam we were gonna hold off until later." He held the napkins out towards Dean, who was still leaned over the edge of the car. Dean coughed on vomit. He could hear Sam's boots crunching in the gravel as he walked towards them.

"Dean?" Sam asked, reaching his arm out to touch his brother's shoulder before deciding against it and pulling away. For a moment the concern that waivered in his voice sounded so much like the Sam he knew.

"I'm okay," Dean said. Sam must have swerved when he saw Dean pull off, based off of the relatively short distance between where their cars were parked on the shoulder.

"Yeah, we got it handled, Sam. Dean's still feeling a little off from last night is all," Henry said, leaning to get a better look out the driver's side door.

Just like that, Sam snapped back, jaw set, "Well let's get this show on the road then." He turned on his heel, taking long strides back to his car.

"Sam!" Henry called after him, "Dean is obviously not feeling well. I don't know if the hunt is the best thing for him right now."

Sam stopped in his tracks, before calling back over his shoulder, "Dean's a big boy, Henry. He knows better than to get trashed the night before a big hunt. Lives are at stake here. Do you really want to risk another innocent person dying just because Dean has a hangover?"

"No," Henry replied sheepishly, backing off a little, "But if he's this bad, he's going to be more of a liability than anything. A few more hours wouldn't hurt, would they?" He reasoned.

"Fine," Sam clipped back, "but if we're stopping, can we at least get something to eat? I'm starving." Henry looked over toward Dean, who had just finished wiping his mouth.

"Yeah, yeah that's fine, I need something to get this taste out of my mouth, anyways," Dean said, waving them both off. He swung his legs back into the car and shut the door behind him. Maybe at the diner he could finally get some real answers as to what was happening here.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Henry asked, looking off toward where Sam was climbing back into his own car, "Sam's a dick, but if you're not up to it, we really shouldn't be hunting."

"I'm fine," Dean grumbled. He hit the gas.


	4. Chapter 3

AN: Wow, I did it again. Another early post. I tried to hold this one off a little bit longer, but alas, I was too excited to actually be writing again and posted it way earlier than I promised. Again, thank you guys so much for the faves, follows, and comments, it really inspires me to write more. It's been so long since I've done this I've forgotten how good it feels. In this chapter we're starting to hit a little more action, so I hope you enjoy it.

-GNS-

Chapter 3:

The diner they stopped at was identical to hundreds of diners Dean had been in before. It was lined with sticky red vinyl booths and smelled like hot grease. Dean walked in behind Henry, who followed Sam at a distance. The waitress behind the counter threw a sweet smile in their direction, "sit anywhere guys."

Sam slid into a nearby booth and Henry sat across from him, pulling a menu out from behind the napkins. Dean took a seat next to Sam, his shoulder brushing up against Sam as he pushed his brother farther in, a silent "gimmie some room" gesture. He was so used to the movement he didn't notice the confused looks he was getting from the other two men. Henry's brow was furrowed, and Dean realized this was probably not their usual sitting configuration.

"There's less glare from the window on this side," Dean lied, fishing the air for some excuse, "I still have a killer headache is all." Henry seemed to accept the explanation, but he still looked hurt as he scanned the pages of the menu.

"How's it going today, guys?" The waitress asked, striding over, notepad in hand. Her voice was sugar sweet, and she had smooth, dark brown skin and chocolate eyes. Dean was already leaning in to drop one of his tried and true lines, when Sam replied.

"Great, sweetheart," he said deeply, his mouth cocking up in a low smile. Dean was so taken aback by the exchange he didn't notice when she asked for his order.

"Ah, just a coffee for me," Dean answered, suddenly aware of her silent waiting. His stomach was still turning.

"Sure thing," She replied, noting it on her pad before turning to Henry.

"The cobb salad for me, and can I get the dressing on the side?" He said, snapping his menu shut, "and a water. Thanks."

"Mmm mm," the waitress, Susanne according to her nametag, hummed. "And you, sugar?" She continued, eyes on Sam.

"The bacon cheeseburger," he said smoothly, "and coke if you got it." Dean almost choked on air at his reply. Sam? A bacon cheeseburger?

"Is Pepsi alright?"

"That'll be just fine," Sam smiled.

"Alrighty, I'll put all that in straight away," Susanne finished, striding off. Dean saw Sam's eyes trail her as she left.

"Imma hit the head," Dean said suddenly, standing up. He had to get away from the crazy for a minute and compose himself.

He was finishing up washing his hands when he was slammed up against the side of the bathroom wall. "Who the hell are you," Sam hissed, arm barred against Dean's chest, the other clutching a silver knife against his throat.

"It's me," Dean insisted, "Dean."

"For shit you are," Sam growled, pushing the knife a little closer. "Henry might not see it, he idolizes you so much he can't even notice it when you're sitting in the car right next to him. But I had you pegged for a while now. What are you, and what are you doing with my brother?"

"Look," Dean reasoned, "I'm Dean, really. I just might not be _your _Dean."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?" Sam questioned. He eyes were hard and his extra height seemed to loom above Dean. It was, well to be honest, it was fucking scary.

"I don't know either, man," Dean said, "honest. This morning I thought I had woken up in a djinn dream or something. I'm just as clueless as you."

"A djinn dream? So what, you're from a different world?" Sam was still suspicious, Dean could see it in his eyes, but he pulled back enough that Dean could breathe again.

"Yeah, yeah I guess," Dean rambled, "but I have no clue how I got here."

"Why didn't you say something earlier?" Sam asked.

"Well one, I didn't know what the hell was happening. And two, I didn't want to be pinned up against a wall with a knife. Shit, look how well that worked out for me," Dean sad with a hard laugh, gesturing vaguely around him.

"So what's so different, about your world I mean," Sam seemed to believe him now, mostly at least. He was still cautious, but more relaxed than before, "you knew since this morning, so something had to key you in right away."

"In my world, I only have one brother," Dean said, "you."

Sam started laughing, which is not the response he expected. "That's rich, that's real fucking funning. You without Henry? Shit how's your heart even beating?" There was a bitter edge to his voice that Dean didn't understand.

"Look, I don't know what's happening here, I just want to get back home."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam trailed off, "we can discuss this more later. We've been in here too long already, and Henry will be worried."

"You don't want to tell him?" Dean asked, confused.

"Tell him you come from a world where he doesn't even exist? Hell no. It would crush him. He doesn't know you're not you, so we'll keep it quiet for now. I'll find some time to pull you aside later, and we can talk more," Sam explained. He was already putting the knife away and straightening his shirt.

"So what am I supposed to do between now and then?" Dean wondered aloud.

"Act like the guys brother," Sam answered, already on his way out the door.


	5. Chapter 4

AN: I feel like I should just stop telling you the chapter is coming next week and just go with the flow, because here I am, once again, with more words. Take heart in the fact that I'll disappoint you eventually. Before it comes to that point, however, enjoy another chapter. I know you all probably have lots of questions, and while not many of them are answered in this next bit, they will be soon. Thank you so much to everyone who commented, I really appreciate it.

-GNS-

Chapter 4:

Dean finished composing himself in the bathroom. He washed the blood off from the nick on his neck where the edge of Sam's sharp blade dug in and straightened his shirt before he returned to the table. Their food had arrived while he was gone, and Sam was already halfway through his burger. As he approached his seat, he noticed that this Sam was clearly bulkier than _his _brother. He could feel the man's strength when he was pinned to the wall, but now, getting a good look at him, Dean could see the clear outline of muscle pressed up against flannel. His physique was a lot similar to Sam when he didn't have a soul, Dean supposed. Back when the man didn't sleep, so he had plenty of time for sit-ups.

He was only a few feet from the table when Sam looked up at Dean with sharp eyes, jerking his head a little in Henry's direction, who was picking at his lettuce. Dean understood the motion, and swiftly slid in next to Henry, before reaching across the table for his cup of coffee.

"Hey there short stuff," Dean chided, bumping shoulders with the younger man. Now that Dean thought of it, however, he wasn't actually sure how tall Henry was.

"I'm a grown man," Henry grumbled back, sticking his fork through a particularly large slice of cucumber. In spite of the grumpy tone, Dean could tell from the quirk in Henry's lips that he'd done something right. Sam acted as if he hadn't noticed the exchange, and continued on with his lunch.

"So um," Dean started, "why don't you tell me about this hunt we're on."

"You know what hunt we're on," Henry sighed, a twinge of annoyance in his voice "you're the one who found it in papers in the place."

"I know that…" Dean lied, "I mean tell me what you got, ya know? The _details,_" he drug out the word with a little flare, and he could have almost sworn he saw Sam smile—accompanied by an eye roll of course.

"Well," Henry began, "what we originally thought was a witch we think is a Qalupalik. It's basically an Inuit water creature that steals children. It lures them close to the edge or out onto ice before dragging them down. It fits the costal town and how the missing children are pretty much unconnected. They feed off of them for immortality—much like a wendigo."

"Alright," Dean said, "now how to we kill it? Up in flames like those leathery sons of bitches?"

"Yeah, actually—" Henry seemed surprised, "how do you know how to kill a wendigo?"

"Ah, must of read it somewhere once…" Dean lied. For the first time he found himself wondering just how different this timeline was than his.

"Well, whatever, we gotta lure it out of the water and light it up," Sam finished, taking a long sip from his Pepsi until all that was left was ice rattling in the bottom of the glass. "We should find a place to say for the night first anyways—gives Dean a few more hours to find his sea legs, and the coast won't be so busy at night."

"Sounds fine to me," Henry said, and Dean nodded in agreement.

"It's a plan, then," Sam declared, leaving the booth to pay the bill. Dean watched him lean over the counter towards the waitress, a sly smile playing across his lips. He slid her a couple twenties, and she handed him back a napkin with his change, no doubt with her number scrawled on it.

"Hey," Henry started quietly, "I don't know what was up with you this morning, but I'm glad you're feeling alright now. I was really worried about you." Dean turned to look at him in his eyes—familiar speckled green just like Sam's.

"Yeah," Dean sighed, he didn't know how to do this—how to get through a chick flick moment that wasn't exclusively with Sam and wasn't immediately after one of them almost died. "I'm alright now," he offered lamely, "sorry for scaring you." Dean climbed up out of the booth quickly, trying to avoid Henry's prying gaze.

"It's alright," Henry replied, following close behind. If he had noticed something strange with the response he didn't seem to show it.

Sam had told Dean to act like the guy's brother. The only problem was, Dean didn't know what the hell that meant for him and Henry. Shit, Dean didn't even know the kid. How was he supposed to be this guy's brother when the only brother he's ever needed was Sam?

"Ready to ride?" Dean asked, walking up behind Sam who was still flirting shamelessly with the waitress. He turned around with a scowl but nodded.

"I'll see you tonight," He threw over his shoulder to Susanne, voice low.

"Sure thing sugar," She smiled back. Then, in true douchebag fashion, Sam, God help him, winked. Dean almost gagged, except after this morning there wasn't much left in him anyways.

"Let's get a place nearby," Sam suggested as they walked out the door, twirling his keys around his index finger.

"Heh, yeah I'm sure you'd like that, Sammy," Dean joked. His tongue caught on the name. Dean saw Sam's brow draw in, and he wasn't sure if he didn't like the nick name, or if he'd outright never heard it from Dean's mouth. The thought of the latter made him suddenly, very mad at his other self.

"You're staying at our motel tonight?" Henry said, interrupting Dean's train of thought.

"Mmm mmm," Sam hummed, "I think it's best to stay close by." His eyes met Dean's for a moment, and there was something in the look that he just couldn't read.


	6. Chapter 5

AN: This one is a doozy, my longest chapter by far. Some questions are gonna get answered here, and in the next chapter. Because this chapter is so long, I don't expect to have another one done before the weekend is over. Thank you again so much for your support, it's so encouraging to read your comments, so feel free to leave a fav or a comment. I hope you enjoy!

-GNS-

Chapter 5:

The three men got two separate rooms at the Cozy Costal Motel. The kind right next to each other with the doors that conjoin. Dean had to catch himself when he started to follow Sam into his room for the night. He remembered what Henry said about _them _always sharing a room, and well, if Sam was dead set on Henry not knowing, Dean would try his best to act the part.

He hung back from Henry a few feet to watch, not sure if they had a usual way of going about it—who got which bed and what not—and he didn't want to raise anymore red flags. If they really were as close as Sam has been suggesting they are, Dean wasn't sure how Henry could have possibly not noticed Dean wasn't, well, Henry's Dean. Hell, the only reason Sam realized it was by how nice Dean was being to him. That was a thought that didn't really sit well in Dean's stomach.

Henry threw his stuff down on the far bed, so Dean plopped his bag—or the other him's bag—down at the end of the bed closest to the door. He had just splayed out across the wrinkled thread-thin blue comforter when there was a short knock on the connecting door.

"I'll get it," Henry said, waving Dean off as he began to sit up. He undid the deadbolt and swung the door open. Sam strode in and sat down at the small wooden table in the corner by the window. "Make yourself comfortable," Henry deadpanned.

"Why thank you kindly sir," Sam sneered back, flipping open his laptop.

"Hey, this is _our _room," Henry replied, clearly exasperated. Dean could understand, he had been here less than a day, and the fighting was already wearing on him.

"And you opened the door, sweetheart," Sam clipped back, "who else was gonna be knocking on the door that connects to my room?"

Henry stayed silent, arms crossed and lips set in a deep frown.

"Are we gonna get to work, or what?" Sam asked, eyes hard and resolve unwavering.

"Fine," Henry huffed.

Dean pulled himself up and sat on the end of the bed while Henry made himself at home in the chair across from Sam.

"So, get this," Sam started, "Qalupalik have pretty terrible eyesight. I've been thinking, three grown men trying to lure this thing out in the middle of the night is probably not the best bet, unless we wanted to use a child as bait—"

"Which isn't an option," Henry interrupted.

"Exactly, so if you'd let me finish," Sam broke in, "Qalupalik lure kids to the edge of the water or out onto the ice… if we were to get a pair of kids shoes, and plant them by the edge of the water, the thing might just fall for it enough to climb out and take a peak."

"Right, and how are we gonna get the thing far enough out of the water to light it on fire?" Henry protested.

"I mean, we could always use a flare gun," Dean offered, "Maybe even get a doll and dangle it over the edge or something to make it real believable. Then when the thing rears it's ugly head, we waste it."

"I guess it could work," Henry admitted, "you and I could go grab some stuff right now, I saw a Walmart not too far up the road."

"Why don't you go yourself," Dean said, tossing him the keys. Henry caught them one handed midair, from the way the movement seemed practiced, it was probably something they'd done on multiple occasions, "I'm still a little groggy from last night, and I'd prefer to be well rested for the hunt."

"Alright," Henry said, a little unsure, "Need anything else while I'm out?" The question wasn't directed at him specifically, but the way he locked eyes at Dean made it clear that Sam was not invited in on the offer.

"Nah," Dean said, "I'm alright." As Henry started to turn out the door Dean said, "What about you, Sam? Need anything?" Henry's shoulders tightened and Sam looked up in dull surprise.

"I'm good," he said, and Henry left, the door shutting behind him with a snap. Dean waited for a few moments to make sure the man hadn't forgotten anything before speaking.

"Well, now that he's gone, we can talk," Dean said, pushing himself up off of the bed and into Henry's previous spot across from Sam.

"Sure," Sam replied, shifting in his chair and pushing his computer out of the way, "I have some questions I'd still like you to answer."

"You're telling me," Dean sighed, leaning back in his seat.

"So in your world, you're still a hunter? Just no Henry?" Sam asked.

"I guess, I'm not really sure how much our timelines diverged," Dean answered, "I mean, mom died when you were six months old, she was killed by the yellow eyed demon after he showed up in your nursery. I pulled you out of the fire, and Dad was pretty much obsessed after that. Finding out what killed her, ya know?"

"I mean, mom was killed by yellow eyes, but it was when Henry was six months old, not me," Sam explained. "He still came for me when I was a baby, still _tainted _me, but I guess mom knew. She didn't get out of bed that night." The way he said 'tainted' lit a low, angry fire somewhere deep in Dean's stomach. The ease Sam had describing himself that way suggested he had accepted it as a fact for far too long. Dean had locked his own Sam up for detox—he could only imagine what this Sam must have gone through.

"Two years later and the demon comes again for Henry, try to maximize his possible results or something, ya know?" Sam continued, "But mom was ready, stopped him before he could—but it wasn't enough. She went up in flames that night. I wasn't even three yet, and Dad drug me out. You—you took Henry. Dad was still obsessed on finding the thing, and Henry always butted heads with him pretty bad. He's stubborn, but he won't always stand up for himself—most of the time you ended up doing it for him."

"I took his side over dads?" Dean asked, surprised.

"Took his side? Half the time there was all out screaming matches between you two. Henry was yours, ya know? You had to protect him, even if he couldn't do it himself. When he went to Yale, it crushed you he was leaving, but you were also the one to speak up for him, to support him," Sam explained, "he was never fit for this life, you knew that. It wasn't until Dad went missing two years later that he bothered coming back."

"And what about you?" Dean asked, "didn't you ever go to college?"

"Me? Hell no!" Sam exclaimed. Then, his voice got low and quiet, "Henry was always the smart one, ya know? I was dad's project. We got along most of the time. I wasn't, I wouldn't have fit in at school anyways." It was an amount of vulnerability that Dean hadn't seen out of this Sam yet, and he wondered what else he didn't know about the man. He was always angry, frustrated, as if the world had forsaken him from the start—and well, maybe it had.

"Did I go to college in your world?" He asked softly.

"Sammy, you got a full ride to Stanford," Dean answered.

"Huh," he sighed. "And you don't have any idea how you got here? Was it a hunt?" Sam asked, quickly changing the subject. There was something calmer, more civil about the way he spoke when Henry was out of the room. Clearly from the way Sam was protecting him from the truth, he cared, but the two fought with each other nonstop when they're in the same room. It vaguely reminded him of Sam and John.

"No, no clue. I went to bed in my motel room, wasted off my ass, and the next moment I'm waking up in the Impala. We weren't even on a hunt. Just kind of in-between jobs on our way back to Kansas." Dean answered, "Any reason why _your _Dean would get replaced with me?"

"No, just like you said, we were on our way to this job… nothing that would do _this,_" Sam said, waiving his arm around to emphasize their current predicament. It seemed, for now at least, what caused this was a mystery.

"So… what about yellow eyes? Did you guys kill him?" Dean asked instead, trying to get more context on how much things changed.

"Yeah, he uh, well after he possessed Dad and I, I couldn't take the shot, he escaped. Then the thing kidnapped me and took me to some ghost town—"

"Cold Oak," Dean interrupted, just the name made his hands go numb.

"Exactly. I mean, then Jake—another chosen kid like me—ended up stabbing me in the back and Dad, well he made a deal to uh, save me. You ended up shooting yellow eyes with the colt," Sam explained.

"In my world I almost died in a car crash not long after dad was possessed," Dean said, "He uh, Dad gave his life and the colt for mine… but it was me who made the deal for you after Cold Oak. Then all the bullshit with being vessels for Michael and Lucifer. How'd you," Dean began, already afraid of the answer he was going to get, "after the apocalypse, how'd you get out of the cage?"

"I gained consciousness and um, well I threw the devil back into the box—but it was a year and a half before I got pulled back out. It was an angel—Castiel," Sam said quietly.

"Cas?" Dean said surprised.

"Yeah, you know him?"

"Yeah he, he was our friend for a long time," Dean answered shortly. Purgatory was still a wound fresh in his mind, and he didn't really want to talk about it.

"Well, he said that God had bigger plans for me, and just like that I was out." Then, Sam got quiet. He appeared, all at once, to be a different person. Smaller. His hard façade faded away and all that was left was a boy. He, well Sam looked lonely. He glanced down at the table as if he were studying it and inhaled sharply. "So," he began, "in your world… are we close?"


	7. Chapter 6

AN: Well hello there, I'm back at it again with another chapter. This one is going to seem pretty short after the giant that was this weekend's post, but I didn't want to try cramming in content that just didn't need to be there in this more emotion driven bit to the story. Thanks for reading and leaving your comments, I really appreciate them. Enjoy!

-GNS-

Chapter 6:

"So," Sam began, "in your world…are we close?" His chestnut hair had fallen into his face, and his big doe eyes peaked out from between the locks. It made him look so much younger.

"Close?" Dean asked, "Of course, you're my _brother_." He said the word with the same weight he always did—like it was a promise, a vow. He let it settle in the air with their entire history between them, all the fights and death and end of the world between them. It was the only apology they had ever needed, the thing they they always used to show how much they cared. No matter how many all out fights they've had or the blows they had thrown—it was always enough.

"You say that like it's supposed to mean something to me," Sam said, shifting back in his chair. Dean's face fell flat.

"Doesn't it?" He asked, shifting forward in his chair.

Sam shook his head. "I never had what you and Henry have, I've never had…" he trailed off.

"A brother?" Dean asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Someone to look out for me," Sam said simply, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair as if the thought was so second nature to him it didn't really matter. Dean's stomach bottomed out and a familiar, fiery anger that had been creeping up in him as of late spread through his veins. How bad had this Dean failed Sam? How could he have left him for nothing? Not even cared? Abandoned him? "Henry was always the one who needed protection. And you, well you needed to be needed. He stuck to your hip like a third leg, and I, well I was just wallpaper to the two of you. Things were a little better for the two of us after Henry left for Yale, but it was two short years and you two kept in touch. After he came back, all of that ended, though."

"If I could give your Dean a piece of my mind," Dean growled, slamming his hands against the table, fists clenched in white knuckled rage. Sam didn't flinch, but he seemed surprised at the amount of raw emotion he was displaying—how much he seemed to care.

"In your world, I really matter that much to you?" Sam asked, looking like a hurt puppy. Dean was amazed by how much the man's tough exterior really hid, how deep the façade went.

"Matter? Sam, there isn't anything, past or present I would put in front of you. The world could burn to the ground for all I cared, as long as—" the door swung open and both men snapped back in their chairs. Sam's face went hard again, his mouth a ruler-straight line and Dean tried to appear as laid back as possible, even as fury still warmed in his belly like a shot of Jack.

"I got the stuff," Henry said, plopping a large bag onto the table. His eyes swung from one brother to the next. The tension in the room was palatable. "Are you guys alright?"

"We're fine," Sam snapped, eyes cold. Dean wondered vaguely if Sam could give himself whiplash with how fast he changed personas. One second he was just some lonely kid, and the next he was—well, kind of a dick. Henry flicked his attention toward Dean, unsure.

"Yeah, we're all good, just talking is all," Dean answered, brushing off Henry's gaze with his words. He reached for the bag and poured out the contents onto the table. Out fell a small pair of blue tennis shoes, and a large tan teddy bear wearing a hat and sunglasses.

"What the hell is that supposed to be?" Sam asked, throwing his arms up into the air.

"Look, it was the best they had—we'll just put the shoes on the bear… you said it yourself, their eyesight sucks," Henry explained, jaw clenched in frustration as he snatched the bear from the table. He began shoving the shoes onto the rounded bear feet one at a time, before angrily tying the laces in a hurried flourish. "See? Looks just fine to me." Henry looked over at Dean, begging for some support.

"I think it'll be enough to get it to rear it's ugly mug," Dean shrugged, casting a half smile toward Henry. "You did beary good," Dean chuckled, "ha-get it? Beary? 'Cause it's—"

"Yeah, because it's a bear," Henry sighed, unamused and accompanied by the rolling of his coppery green eyes.

"Well if that fucker doesn't fall for it, it's on you," Sam said, his look piercing. The stare down lasted only a few seconds before Henry conceded. He grumbled something about using the bathroom in response and stomped away, throwing the bear down on his bed as he went.

"Would it kill you to be a little nicer to the guy?" Dean wondered aloud; head cocked at an imploring angle. Dean knew that Sam was bitter about their relationship, but picking fights wasn't really the best way to go about the whole deal.

"Hey, that's your job man—not mine," Sam answered with a shrug, "Henry and I have an understanding."

"Yeah," Dean huffed, rubbing the back of his neck firmly with the tips of his fingers, "and I have a headache."


End file.
